Persuasion
by Mello McQueen
Summary: In which Harry falls victim to Lucius' attempts at grieving, and Draco punishes him for it. WARNING: This contains Man Sex!


**Written By: **Hikari Riku

**Authoress Note: **BEHOLD! My first...whatever these things are called in Fanfiction. Er...Explicit Sex scene? -shrugs- Okay, I know it isn't that great. BITE ME. I just said I've never written one before. So it might suck, but at least it was fun. Lots of fun. Even though nothing happened the way I wanted. 'Cause I really wanted...well frakk it. Just read and review. I want comments on this!

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**Persuasion **

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He tastes like betrayal. His tongue is bitter, but his lips are sweet and as I stand here, letting him kiss me deeper, gasping and moaning accordingly, I try to focus on how alike they are.

It is funny because to an outsider their shared qualities are what's most obvious. Their appearances are to an extent identical. Both are tall, with long silvery blonde hair, they both have sharp angular features. Aristocratic. And their eyes are the same cold grey that only show emotion at the absolute worst and best of times.

They both also have the same 'better than thou' attitude a lot of the time, and think that because they're rich and powerful they can have anything they want. _Anyone_ they want.

"I want you," he whispers hands gliding over my chest. They're soft, smooth, unlike Draco's own-calloused from six years of Quidditch practices.

My shirt is on the floor, and he bites and nips at my collar bone. 'But this is wrong.' My mind whispers. Then I'm on the floor, shivering from the cold. And then he's on top of me and somehow the cold stone doesn't matter. Nothing but his warmth matters.

His long nimble fingers, so much like Draco's ('but he's _not_ Draco' my mind whispers) are tugging at the fabric of my jeans and his shirt is off revealing pale smooth skin, and even paler scars running this way and that.

Draco doesn't have scars like that. I wonder, do they taste different?

I lean up and run my tongue slowly up one of them, and he stops pulling at my jeans moaning in obvious pleasure. I grin in satisfaction despite the faint bitter taste.

Why is it there again?

"I want you," his voice is hoarse with desire and there is heat radiating from him. From me too. He tugs at my jeans and rips them off, quickly pressing against me. I moan. It's warm and I can feel his obvious erection through the rough fabric of his pants. I know he can feel mine.

My hands move up his legs and I slip one beneath the fabric. My other continues over his inner thigh to grope at him for a moment. I like the way he sounds, gasping like that. It's familiar but not quite.

"Please..." He begs knocking my hand away and rubbing against me. Returning his earlier favor, I pull off the remainder of his clothes.

Skin on skin feels so much better.

I arch against him and he attacks me again. His tongue is in my mouth, fighting with my own in a mock battle for dominance. He's already won.

Through the foggy haze of sweet desire, the bitter taste remains and at the back of my mind a nagging feeling hums persistently like an annoying fly. I ignore it.. It isn't important right? I mean, what could be more important than this?

I feel him ease my legs apart and I almost scream at the sudden pressure that follows as he slips one finger inside of me, and then another, and another. I gasp and moan, my body sticky with sweat. He runs his tongue against the outer shell of my ear and I don't notice as the slight pressure fades, but I do notice when something much large pushes inside of me.

I scream, and feel him breathing in my ear. My body is so hot and it hurts but it feels so _good._

He rocks against me gently at first, giving me time to adjust to his size, only speeding up when I am practically screaming with desire. His thrusts are painful, and they only get stronger with his desire until I _am_ screaming, so loud it echoes off the walls.

But I don't want him to stop. Not for anything.

But he does. I feel him ease himself out of me and for a moment the loss of his body contact makes me shiver, then he collapses heavily back on top of me panting and gasping for air.

Startled I realize I'm doing the same. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. It hurts like everything hurts, and everything feels so good, and its warm beneath him.

Slowly I feel my eyes drifting closed and I hear myself as though from a great distance whisper a name my tongue is familiar with. "Draco..." What a pretty name...

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_Slowly I feel my eyes drifting closed and I hear myself as though from a great distance whisper a name my tongue is familiar with. "Draco..." What a pretty name..._

'But it's the _wrong_ name.' My mind whispers and suddenly my eyes are open staring up at the high ceiling. I am laying in my bed, and the room is lit with late afternoon sunlight. I can hear the sounds of birds chirping out the window.

It is such a bright and cheerful day, full of happy promise. So why has a dead weight settled itself in my stomach? Why do I feel so nauseous? 'Lucius' that same nagging voice whispers in my ear, but not it sounds more irritated. The bitter taste returns with a vengeance, burning my tongue like cold steel.

"Oh god, Draco..." I whisper my voice is hoarse and as I throw off the covers and stagger to my feet, my body aches in strange places. Reminders of last night, like the bruises I can feel in my skin as I grab my clothes off the end of the bed (cleaned and neatly folded courtesy of the House-elves) and hurriedly put them on.

I feel disoriented as I push open the door and hurry down the corridor towards Draco's room. I half expect the door to be locked (and maybe rigged with explosives) as I turn the knob, but it opens easily (completely explosive free) and I cautiously look inside.

The room is as neat as ever with only a few odd items here and there to suggest that it actually belongs to someone, and isn't just another guest room. A carefully polished Nimbus 2001 sits in the corner, and a cauldron filled with potions ingredients sits on the desk. There is also a picture of the late Mrs. Malfoy who passed away a few months before Draco's last birthday. They don't talk about it, and neither do I.

"D-Draco?" I whisper quietly, half hopeful half afraid. Slowly I step inside and close the door behind me. It gives an audible click. I make my way towards the bed, where thick black curtains are drawn around it and shut tightly. My heart is hammering in my chest as my fingers brush the silk fabric.

"Don't." Draco's voice whispers sharply from just behind me. I whirl around and am suddenly face to face, nose to nose, mouth to—

"Draco," I begin my voice sounds weak even to my ears as I stare into fathomless grey eyes. They're not exactly cold, but they're far from being warm and welcoming.

"Harry," He says back in the same whispered tone. It's full of mal-intent. Swallowing visibly, I take a step back my breath catching. He takes one forward then another, until my back is pressing into the bedside table. I'm trapped.

"You look scared." He says, suddenly seeming to tower over me. Despite the fact that I know he's right, I lower my gaze shamefully to the floor and shake my head in fervent denial.

"Draco, I-" I begin, trying to explain. Needing to explain. He isn't having it though.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry..." He whispers leaning in so close his lips brush against my ear. I can feel the heat rise in my body at his closeness. Can feel him smirking.

"I don't want your excuses. Don't need to hear your reasons, not that you need them. My father can be very _persuasive_." He persists, licking a wet trail over the hollow of my throat. I grip the edges of the table, my breathing quickening and coming in shaky gasps as I fight to keep my head.

"What's wrong Harry?" He asks tauntingly, moving closer and forcing me to push myself onto the tables surface. His hand grip my wrists, holding onto them for support as he leans forward, so close I can feel his heart beating.

"What's wrong love?" he asks again, lips ghosting over my forehead, my jaw-line, my lips... I feel him nibble playfully on my bottom lip and gasp failing to suppress a moan. He grins. "Don't you _want_ this love?"

I nod helplessly, and he gently pushes my chin up as he licks at my throat. "You want this?" He asks amusement in his voice. "Yes," I breathe out. He releases my hands and brushes his fingers down the side of my face. They're warm. "You want me?"

"Yes," I gasp feeling his hands fiddle with the top button on my shirt.

"Me and only me?" His lips trail butterfly kisses down my exposed collar bone.

"Yes," Somewhere in the back of my mind I know what is coming.

His free hand travels up my leg over the fabric of my jeans, gently easing my legs apart. As his fingers brush against me heat goes straight to my groin. "Why's that Harry?" he asks, as I gasp, feeling myself going hard beneath his administrations.

And I moan loudly as his fingers massage me, brushing against the sensitive area. I grip the edges of the table, leaning forward, my head hitting his chest, as I spread my legs wider, silently begging for more.

"Harry," he says in a drawn out whiny sort of way. "Why me and only me?" He asks again, squeezing slightly.

"I-I'm...yours." I whisper breathlessly.

"What was that?" he asks as though he hasn't heard me. Another gentle squeeze.

"Yours...I'm yours..." I whisper desperately.

Draco hums in approval. "Yes," He whispers with obvious pleasure. "_**Mine**_." I barely have time to register the cruel note in his voice before his hand is withdrawn making me whimper before he grips my chin forcing me to look at him. If I had thought he towered over me before it was nothing compared to this.

"**You're mine**." He says, in a tone like he is daring me to deny it. The fierce sort of possession in his eyes, leaves no room for doubt. I nod, as he crushes his lips against mine in a painful kiss, hard enough to bruise. "Good," He says pulling away gasping slightly, letting go of me and backing away. "So we can just forget about my father and his grievences then? I nod again, and he smiles his tone is back to the same arrogant haughty drawl I've always known. "Then that makes us even." he says finally.

I start to nod yet again but stop halfway through. "...What?" I gasp out, still having trouble breathing. His eyes flicker to the curtains. My throat feels tight.

He can't mean...

I lean over and grip the black curtains pulling them open so quickly that I nearly fall of the stand. Lucius is lying curled up beneath the blankets apparently wearing absolutely nothing. For a second I stare in horror at him, then closing the curtains I turn back to Draco.

For the first time I notice his lack of a shirt, and the deep red bite marks along his chest and neck identical to my own. He shrugs nonchalantly at the look on my face. "I told you," he says as though this is nothing surprising. "My father can be _very _persuasive."

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**Authoress Note (again):** Er...so that was weird huh? Did anyone notice that Draco is acting kinda like a Schizophrenic...? And I hope you're all smart enough to piece together the bigger picture and figure out what the hell Lucius' grievences are (hint hint Narcissa hint hint). Maybe that is why Draco is acting Schizo...? Oh well. _**Review please. **_Thank you. 


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